Rebajas: The Epic Battle

The Rebajas Monster

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Neither the morning darkness nor the rain could hold me
back. Early the day after the
celebration of the Three Kings, just like every woman in the country: I woke up
early, renounced my stilettos, and rushed off to war – the first day of rebajas (the sale season). The battlefield: the mall. The ammunition: Cash and cards. The goal: to procure all things bright and
beautiful.

If you think that rebajas
are but another day of shopping, think again. In the UK version of rebajas, three women collapsed and another injured her hand while
shopping in one of the biggest stores.

You see, for us women, the sale season is the time when we can
finally acquire those fabulous items which are normally out of reach. A pair of
Chanel shoes, for example, in normal circumstances, would just be another
picture in Vogue. However, during the sale season, they become real and attainable;
therefore, we stop at nothing to get these precious possessions.

And just like any other war, there are reasons why rebajas exists. For one, it’s to get rid of items from the last season and replenish the
shops with new collections. In Spain,
the battle begins on the 7th of January and lasts until the 7th of March
(although it varies in some parts of
the country like in Cantabria and Galicia where rebajas end in April).

La Confederacion de Consumedores y Usuarios (Consumer’s Confederation) draws the rule of
the game such as: All items should be labeled with their original and reduced
prices. Products should be in perfect condition, and stores are prohibited from
selling deteriorated or defective items.

More or less, the standard
consumer protection applies here so keep your receipt and check for guarantees
as you never know when you’ll need them. A true shopper know the ways of
rebajas like a samurai knows his code of ethics.

As I made my attack
over piles of shirts, skirts and pants, the war became more intense. The Spanish señoras displayed their powerful
lungs and swift elbows. I was pushed, tossed and twisted amidst shrieking
babies and whining men until finally I got to the cashier with my precious new possessions:
three pairs of jeans, four glittering tops and a pair of fierce seven-inch stilettos
from ZARA.

As the lady rang my items, I surveyed the wreckage around me. It had been a good
fight and I couldn’t wait for another battle.

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